The Chosen

On the predawn morning of December 24th, 1995, a dream was fulfilled. I had for years thought it would be great to live with an orange cat. On that chilly St. Cloud, Florida morning, a six week old orange kitten came to the back door, and moved his tiny little badass self into our lives. My dad's comment, "Why he's no bigger than a peanut!" gave him the name that stuck like peanut butter to the roof of your mouth, even as he grew to be a twenty pound mass of solid muscle.

He was an outdoor boy, mostly. When he came home, he would eat, find a place to curl up, and sleep for eight hours. If we went out in the back yard, he played host. He particularly liked it when our friend Tracey was out there. She was trying to get a tan, and he was lying all over her. Inside the house, his favorite companion  was our little blind girl kitty, Yin. He was very affectionate and very protective of her.

There are several favorite Peanut memories. Late one night we were roused by a loud harmony of howling behind the house. Looking out the back, we saw Peanut and  another cat on the peak of the roof of the house behind us, bathed in the light of the full moon, trading howls. Quite a few times, by contrast, Peanut and three other neighborhood orange cats would sit around the the front or back yard and just stare at each other. Peanut stole toys around the neighborhood. He specialized in small plush animals, and specifically animals from the movie Babe.  He started in St. Cloud,  and six months later, when we moved to Orlando, he started up again. One morning we looked out the back door at a one-night haul of four Babe toys.

In 2005 we moved to the Boston area. My parents were worried about us trying to rent an apartment with four cats, one an outdoor boy. Their orange cat Charlie was dying of cancer. They volunteered to take Peanut. I pulled a trailer full of stuff to store at their house, and a carrier full of Peanut, who would be their beloved totally indoor boy for eight years. On the way, I stopped at a rest area to use the facilities. I let Mr. Butter out of the carrier to use the litter box. When I returned, the litter box was unsullied, but there was a strong odor in the cab of the pickup truck. Upon searching for the source of the odor, I found a pile of turds in my hat, which I had left on the seat. I left my hat in a trash can.

We've visited my parents several times since then. Peanut refused to acknowledge me. In 1995 he chose me to be his service provider, and after ten years I abandoned him on a mountain 700 miles away. He never forgave me. He sure fell in love with his new service providers, though. The sunny screened-in deck in the treetops was his new favorite place to be. No more fighting or communing with other cats. There was a bear once or twice, but that doesn't count.

Many of his fans have heard of his passing on Facebook. Many expressions of sorrow have been posted. He was a great kitty. We all miss him.

The Long Farewell

My mother has a neurosis about death. Decades ago, when we used to go fishing, she would insist that we let the fish die before cleaning them. When our German shepherd could no longer walk, and was obviously suffering, my dad and I had to sneak her out of the house to get her put down. So it is not surprising that now their old orange cat Peanut is getting the same treatment as the fish.

When we talked to them two weeks ago, they told us about taking "Peanie" to the vet because he hadn't had a bowel movement in ten days. We were hoping they would find it in their hearts to let him go. No such luck. My dad called Saturday to tell us that Peanie had had a movement after a week and a day. He can hardly walk, he barely moves, his quality of life is nil. It's hard to think about my big, strong, brave and free outdoor badass kitty reduced to an invalid.

We're going  down to Georgia to see them in three weeks. I hope they're not trying to make him hang on until then!

NEWS FLASH!!!

I can update Cat Juggler (or my other sorely neglected blogs) with many new Kindle Fire! This is good, because I no longer have the option of spending hours at my desktop computer. I have a puppy now who whines and tries to break in if she' s out, and tears up the ratty old shag carpet (and who can blame her) if she' s in. She' s asleep now after our hour and a half walk through the sloppy slush and mud of melting Meadville.

So I' m 60 years old now. How in heck did that happen? 40 years ago I was convinced that I would die at or before age 21. That plan didn' t work.

My last day in my fifties was pretty bummed out, but I' m better now. Bring it!!!